The Journal of Nobody
by volibear
Summary: That old coot is definitely going to murder me if he finds this. *DISCONTINUED*
1. November 7th

Under normal circumstances, I would never _ever_ write in a book I find in a library. But these aren't _normal_ circumstances, and I suppose this isn't _really_ a book. Did somebody once own this book? It was completely blank when I found it, just sitting in the shelf there. One ugly heck of a book, also, and I do have a certain fondness for these sort of things. The binding is nearly torn off and some of the pages are singed. I wonder if the previous owner had tried to burn it? I can't imagine why somebody would do that.

But I'm sure the person no longer wanted it.

I took the neglected little book and hid it in my bag when Panda wasn't looking. I'm not supposed to have a journal; after all, what could a nobody possibly write about? A nobody wasn't supposed to even exist. If the old coot were to find it, he would probably just throw it away and I'd have to get food on my own for a week. That's why I must take care when I write. I can't write too fast or my quill will make a scratching noise, and Panda will hear it, even in his sleep. I can't leave any evidence - not even the smallest splatter of ink - that I was writing. I even have to control my breathing, because I'm not supposed to be awake when Panda tells me to sleep.

And now I'm thinking, what could I possibly write about here?

I don't want to write impartial data; Panda makes me do that anyway. Not only that, but he makes me write them in English, which I find myself to be rather terrible in. But I have to learn it anyway. Bookmen need to be able to speak any and all languages, including our own. So far I can only speak Aramaic, Hebrew, Arabic, Portuguese, Spanish, and some Cantonese. Panda tells me how important English is, since a large portion of the world's literature is written in English, and it is also the most flexible language. I actually spend most of my day being taught different languages instead of speaking in the ones I know. He doesn't speak about much else, nothing casual. It's always a lecture or instruction for me to follow. It's terribly dull.

Come to think of it, Panda only talks to me in our own language, most of the time. Like the folks who use it, the language doesn't have a name. It's just the language of the Bookman Clan, and that's it. Nothing more and nothing less. And we are only able to speak it when there is nobody to hear it. What a pun.

…Panda is definitely going to murder me if he finds this.

I had better put this away for a while. I have a feeling Panda will wake soon, and if I'm not asleep, I'd better be cooking some breakfast, to put it in his words. Later.


	2. November 24th

Today was really cold. Panda had me in the library annex all afternoon studying Russian. I thought it was quite the concept, since Russia is supposed to be an icy region. My candle kept blowing out with the draft, so I had to move closer to the open window to get any light. Of course this didn't help the whole deal about it being cold. I remember wondering constantly why I was studying Russian in the first place. We aren't anywhere near that country. But then I remembered.

Panda told me to.

I don't have a whole lot of free will, you know. I have to do what Panda tells me to do; sleep when he tells me to sleep, eat when he tells me to eat, study when he tells me to study. I'm not allowed to have any friends or keep any one name. When Panda tells me to stop, I have to stop. The moment Panda tells me to throw away my identity, I become Nobody again. Such is the life of Nobody.

There was a time not a few months ago I particularly remember. We were in Qandahar. There were British soldiers there, so nobody was out in the streets. Everyone kept to themselves and the people were hostile even to their own families. Panda was able to find a certain family that would let us stay in their home. It was only one night; Panda figured we wouldn't have any need to stay long there. Anyway, the couple there had a daughter who was a year younger than I at the time – she was only seven years old. Her name was Delbar. Mine was Farzin. She was totally deaf, but what made he so memorable is that she had her own way of communication. All she had to do was look at you and you would know what she was thinking.

See, Delbar had never met anyone her age before. The only life she remembered having was of constantly hiding away in her safe den. She was eager to play, albeit awkwardly. Panda, surprisingly, allowed it. But when we had to leave, she was so sad. She pried the little hairpin she wore – a small white flower fastened to a cheap wire – from her hair and gave it to me, pushing it into my hand as if I didn't have a choice. Farzin was her very first friend.

As we left Qandahar, there was an explosion. The British had taken down nearly an entire block of homes in their crossfire. I remember still holding Delbar's hairpin. I held it tight, because I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it. Panda only gave me that look that told me it had to go. I dropped it right where I stood. After all, it wasn't mine. The hairpin was a gift to Farzin, from Delbar. I was Nobody.

Oh, I suddenly remember why I'm studying Russian. I think Panda mentioned something about going there soon. Figures.


	3. November 29th

The other day, some lady asked me about my eye. I just smiled and told her it was an old injury, and she gave me candy.

I don't like it when people ask about my eye. Yeah, it's not every day you see a kid with just one eye, but honestly, it's awkward to talk about. You know the feeling, don't you? When that one topic comes up that you don't really want to talk of because you know the truth will have people pitying you. Sometimes it's hard to lie, even though I'm an expert at it. I hate it when people feel sorry for me. What's there to weep for, anyway? I am Nobody, after all.

The truth is, it isn't an injury. I know that much. Panda won't let me take my eye patch off, though. He says it needs to stay on at all costs, and that I am never to uncover my right eye. But why? It's my eye, damn it, shouldn't I know why I'm hiding it? My right eye doesn't feel any different than my left. I bet if I took off my eye patch, it could see with it just fine. But Panda doesn't like questions, so I don't ask.

He's the master, remember? I'm just the student.

But sometimes, I do wonder myself what could be there. Maybe Panda did something to my eye when I was a baby, and it needs to be covered up. Maybe it's a Bookman thing. I know it's a very naïve of me to think this, but maybe I have special powers? I mean, other than my inherited abilities. It makes me all jumpy when I consider it. This is totally crazy, but what if my eye works like a camera? It would make sense; Panda told me the Bookman Clan has its own library of unique "tools."

Of course, in the end, my eye could simply be blind. I wouldn't know, since I can't remember a moment in my life in which I saw anything but black in my right eye. It's a concept, don't you think?


	4. December 9th

All is not well in Nobody-land. A grave, terrible injustice has been done to me. I can understand why Panda would like to change our identities as often as possible while we travel north across China; we always wear a mask of sorts from town to town. Since we were traveling on the west side, the dialect was completely different, and only Panda knows their language. But really, did he actually find it necessary that I pretend to be a girl? I was forced to wear the name Mingmei and dress appropriately as a female. Either Panda truly hates me, or he just has a sick sense of humour. He gave me strict guidelines not to speak to people (not that I could,) and to stay close.

On this occasion, we were all hustle-bustle through a busy marketplace. Panda never told me the name of it, but I remember it well because it smelled strongly of cattle. The vendors were mostly selling their harvests, there were some herb sellers here and there, and some were even flogging foreign goods they must have smuggled in. I asked him what he was looking for, because Panda _never_ walks into a marketplace just to look around.

"You will see, if it's here." Was his answer.

Suddenly, in all the cluttered noise came a voice I was able to understand.

"There you are," said an old man. I found myself very surprised that I could hear it among every other sound. But somehow, his voice stood out. He was a taller fellow, a foreigner, no doubt. He was carrying what looked to be a canvas of sorts.

"Old friend," Panda greeted him. Okay, I was surprised. Bookmen didn't have "friends", did they? Him and Panda shook hands. Then the man was looking at me.

"And who is this little lady?" he asked, looking at me. I knew he meant well with his gentle-looking smile, but something about him was really giving me the creeps. Panda answered him in French, which must have been the other man's primary language, because he responded quite fluently. This sort of had me in a nark. I couldn't speak French, so I didn't know what they were talking about at all. It was then I noticed somebody else there, standing next to the man.

As the two prattled on, the girl was standing silently next to him, arms crossed. She looked to be about my same age. I could easily tell she was irritated and didn't like being here any one bit. I could see where she was coming from, but at least she didn't have to crossdress. When she noticed me, there was an immediate scowl and a hand placed on a katana I hadn't seen before (it was tucked into her robes). I found myself backing away a couple of steps.

"Anyway, let us not linger too long. I must deliver this little one to headquarters, you see," the man said, no longer in French. He placed a hand gently on the girl's black hair, which was tied up into a ponytail that trailed down to her shoulders. Maybe it was just me, but I could have sworn I heard her growl something in Japanese. Panda nodded, giving the man his hand again. After a quick shake, the two parted, and I found myself following Panda out of the market.

When we finally made it into the countryside, Panda allowed me to ditch the girl name and clothes and become a boy again. As I changed my clothes, I spotted something tucked into his bag. It looked like a slim little box, bound in leather and bearing no special insignia. But I did know that Panda did _not_ have this before today.

"What is that?" I asked him, pointing to the box.

"Tools." He answered cryptically.

I have a feeling they're more than just tools.


End file.
